This blog is where I host my story Primus Pilus.

What is Primus Pilus? It's story of low fantasy written as web serial micro-fiction set in an alternate world version of the Roman empire.

Low fantasy - meaning magic without dragons, elfs, or fireballs.

Web serial means that on a regular basis (Mondays and Fridays) a new chapter comes on here. Which is, y'know, the web. Yeah.

And here's the interesting semi-unique (I've only seen it one other place. Which would make it ... bi-nique?) part. Micro-fiction. I got the idea from Alexandra Erin's story "Tribe". Each of my micro-chapters is between 320 and 350 words. The chapters will be grouped into "Arcs". Each arc will, in it's own way, be a seperate story in the same continuity, and the arcs will come together to form a larger story.

Alternate world means two things. One it means that there's magic. Two, it means that the world fits with my spotty historical memory.

So, if you're new to the story, check out on the left the Story Archive, and click on 1 - 1.

Otherwise, the most recent microchapter is right below here.

I hope you leave me some comments. Critiscism, praise, or whatever. Just let me know that people are actually reading this!


Wednesday, March 11, 2009

1 - 1

It was barely dawn when the black cat ran out of Alexandria's via principa, just before a legionary's sandalled foot would have crushed her tail. Entering a back alley, the cat shook herself indignantly before running through the back alleys. Before ten minutes passed, she made her way up onto the rooftops of the vast expanse of private homes. She was hungry, but she knew where to find food. So she set off for the temple of Baast. Within few more minutes, that black cat was but one of many felines swarming through the front doors of the temple.

It was this mass which Kemsa tripped over as he tried to make his way to the harbour.

“I apologize, O Lady Baast” He said, as he paused, seeking to demonstrate a satisfactory level of contriteness to the subjects of the goddess he had just so improprietarily displaced in his rush – his rush!

“I'm late! I'm late!” he fairly cried to himself, as he hurriedly continued on his way to the harbour. If he was the last of his contubernium (his eight-man legionary unit) to arrive, he would never hear the end of it from the older men.

When he made it to the docks, Kemsa looked around to see if he was, in fact, the last to arrive. First he spotted the two oldest men – Buteus and Clemens – were sitting on one of the docks proper, their heads bent together, clearly discussing something of great import.

They must be making plans for the upcoming journey, thought Kemsa. But of course, there's nothing strange about that. We – and the rest of the cohort – are shipping out to Britannia this morn. To think that the ninth legion up and deserted into the wilds of Caledonia! Oh, Isis fend, I hope that boats are not as bad as I've been told.

As Kemsa scanned the crowd at the harbour, he was surprised that he did not see –

“Hello there, little girl. Are you lost?” A voice asked sardonically from behind him.

– Crassus.


Anonymous said...

Isn't it Britannia?

lifethelemon said...

I have no idea.
Why yes, so it is. *adds an extra N@